


Werewolves and Wizards and Vampires, Oh My!

by gracefultree



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Knotting, M/M, Werewolf!Sex, Wizard!Finch, werewolf!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 13:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: John is a werewolf working for the CIA.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! 
> 
> Here is the intro to a story I've been tinkering with. Not much actually written, so don't expect regular updates, but I wanted to share my spooky/paranormal offering today. Enjoy!

It took John three long seconds to return to consciousness before he realized he must have made a huge mistake at some point in his life.Not today, being hung from his wrists just high enough that the tips of his toes touched the ground with a blindfold covering his eyes was child’s play to deal with, but farther back.He closed his eyes and wondered when it had been. 

When he left home for the Army?It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.He’d be protecting the weak and helpless.He’d have comrades and direction and a purpose.He’d have a pack. 

When he left the Army for Jessica, however briefly?She’d been so sweet and kind and a balm on his already overused body and mind.She hadn’t cared about his heritage.He’d thought she’d been his One.He wouldn’t have been able to leave her, if she’d been, though. 

When he returned to the Army and left her?No, he couldn’t deny his calling to help.He couldn’t deny that the country needed him after the Towers fell and everyone with even a token bit of protective instinct swarmed to the military or the helping professions.He wasn’t suited for that other kind of work with so much blood already on his hands, so back to the Army it was. 

That lead to the Rangers and the Special Forces and the CIA.That lead to Langley, then Moscow and Prague and Morocco and so many other places and eventually eventually to Ordos.That lead to nearly dying at the hands of his erstwhile mate, Kara. 

They’d never _truly_ mated, though, just had the sex required of the job and then a little more because he had a hard time saying no when she felt frisky.He knew what the expectations were. 

He survived, though, and took his damaged body to the only place that might have been home: Jessica’s arms.Only Jessica was dead at the hands of the man who was supposed to protect her and John lost control of himself for the first time since the CIA got their claws into him.John had nowhere to go and the CIA had cast him off, leaving him to live or die on his own.They expected him to die, he was sure, and with his injuries it wasn’t improbable, but it was hard to kill someone like John and he managed for a while by staying drunk and stoned and occasionally high out of his mind. 

Until he got into a fight on a subway car and got arrested.The detective assigned to his case seemed competent, and he made sure he didn’t leave any fingerprints for her to find, even through the drunken haze.He’d be dead, otherwise, and despite his less than pleasant life as a wino on the street, it was better than dead from a sniper rifle or under a black hood somewhere no one would ever find his body.He’d been surprised when a fancy lawyer showed up to release him, and though he knew he should probably find out who his mysterious benefactor was, he’d slipped away and back into the gutters. 

Thunder crashed, startling him back into awareness of his current situation: Strung up by his wrists in an isolated mansion by the sea, sent by his old masters after they’d discovered him on the streets of New York.He must have left prints at the station for them to be able to track him in the first place.Maybe on the kids he’d tussled with…

“If you have this much of a death wish, John, you might as well be useful before you kill yourself,” Mark said, standing over him as he rotted in a foul-smelling alley covered in weeks of dirt and his own urine several months after the unfortunate incident on the subway.Before John had time to surface from the haze of alcohol and drugs the spell had been cast and he was their creature once again. 

Creature… he hated being called that, though he’d grown used to it.He wanted to be a man.Just a man.He’d grown up thinking he’d be a man, after all. 

He closed his eyes under the blindfold again and focused his mind, sensing his surroundings with his supernatural hearing.A large room, he could tell from the way the rain splattered against the floor that windows were open and that there was ample space above him should his captor or captors want to pull him higher.He tried rattling the chain, seeing if he could swing himself to get more dimensions.The only thing he discovered was that he was naked and that his ankles were manacled together the same way his wrists were.God, he hated having to be a gymnast to escape — his abs were good, but he knew he’d feel it for a few days. 

Tonight was a full moon, the time when the monster he hunted would be at its weakest while he would be at his strongest, according to the powers that be. 

They were wrong. 

Either that or they were trying to kill him again by sending him into hostile territory with bad intel.He’d certainly been captured quickly enough, hit from behind by a knockout spell he hadn’t felt coming, powerful enough to send him to his knees but not knock him out, followed quickly by five more from all sides.The monster who squatted here must not like interlopers on its stolen land. 

Another booming crash.He felt the hairs along his naked skin stand on end, the electric crackle of lightning sizzling against his senses. 

Soft footsteps, leather shoes on stone.The swish of fabric as his captor moved around him. 

“Your handlers have been misusing you,” murmured a voice redolent with the accent of the Midwestern United States.John didn’t hear the hiss of fangs or the altered voice boxes of some of the most common preternaturals or halfbloods.He was dealing with a human, then, a man. 

Maybe. 

Many creatures took human form for camouflage to pass among the general population of humans and it was sometimes hard to tell who was who.It was something John did himself, though his own kind had been doing it since long before most of the other species bothered with trying to hide in plain sight.That they were all second class citizens of the world built by humans and their ever-more populous selves impacted the practice, too.All species wanted to be safe, and looking human was the easiest way. 

He needed more information.He took a deep breath, flaring his nostrils. 

Storm and saltwater misting in the open windows confused his sense of smell.Leather, books, ink, wool, silk and — silicone?Ozone?Copper?Green tea? 

He felt a gloved hand — a human-shaped hand — sliding down his back, over the swell of his buttocks and down his thighs and calves, cataloguing scars.It was the softest, most supple leather he’d ever felt in his life, warmed by the skin of the creature sizing him up for market.The gloved fingertips touched lightly against the scent glands at the back of his neck that marked his species — usually covered by clothing or special skin-toned bandages the clandestine organizations of the world had been developing for years.The touch made his skin tingle and he felt himself relaxing, his muscles losing tension.The balls of his feet touched the floor. 

“Who says I have a handler?” John replied, emboldened by the way the touch turned sensual as the creature caressed his chest and abdomen.If the creature was attracted to him… he could work with that.It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used his body in that way, and he doubted it would be the last now that he had masters again. 

A sudden crack of sound, sharp and tart to his ears, and he felt leather striking his ass.A burning line of fire that he knew from experience was too weak to break the skin, let alone scar.Just enough to get his attention.A riding crop.Kinky. 

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” the monster snapped, a cross between annoyed and angry.“You’re obviously not your own.You reek of unnatural magic and you’re able to remain human with a full moon in the sky.” 

“I’m not human,” John pointed out even as the chain rattled and pulled him higher so that he was no longer able to feel the flagstones beneath his feet. Or toes.Any relaxation from the caress of his scent glands already gone. 

“Pish tosh, werewolves are just as human as the next person, they simply have a monthly cycle to deal with.” 

John gasped, startled at how boldly the creature stated his species.Usually it was taboo to out someone, even when they’d seen (or smelled) the glands.Usually no one could tell John was anything other than human, even other ‘wolves — he’d had extensive training in suppressing his scent and his masters used scent-suppressant magic on him on a regular basis. 

Usually John wouldn’t startle at such a statement.He had better control over himself than that.He had to, to work for the CIA. 

“Which brings me to my next point.Why would a werewolf work for the CIA?” 

“Why do you inhabit a refurbished vampire’s castle in the middle of nowhere?” John countered, not allowing his disgruntlement at being outed about both his species and job.How could this creature know he worked for the Agency? 

“Touché.Perhaps we’re not on such intimate terms quite yet.I wonder if this will help.” 

The gloved hand returned, touching his genitalia, measuring in a sure grip.He felt the warmth of the creature’s hand through the layer of leather and found himself responding to the gentle touch.It had been a very long time since someone touched him with kindness.The creature continued stroking him, adding something slick and oily that felt delicious to his touch-starved cock. 

“What have your handlers told you about me?Do they have a name for me?What is your mission?” 

“If you think a hand job will get me to talk…” John started.“You’ve got a lot to learn.”

The creature’s hand stilled, holding his erection from below.John immediately lamented the loss of motion. 

“Alas, this would be significantly less unpleasant for you if accompanied by an orgasm,” the creature murmured, his voice sounding distraught.“Ah well.”The creature blew on John’s cock, warm breath cool on the wetness of the oil. 

Suddenly ice enclosed John’s dick, radiating throughout his body in an instant.He felt a rush of lightheadedness as all his capillaries constricted to fight the cold.The cold become more intense as it entered his body, colder, colder, colder still until the ice felt like fire burning inside him, immolating all his cells from the inside out, the molecules, the individual atoms exploding in a conflagration so painful he screamed.

He was on his hands and knees when he returned from the blackout of all the pain.Well — elbows and knees, his hands still confined in front of him and the looped chain heavy on his back.His feet were unbound, though he still felt manacles around his ankles. 

“Let’s try again,” the creature said.“What do you know of me?What were your orders?” 

John shut his mouth with a click.He shook his head to clear it, rubbing the blindfold against his shoulder to try to dislodge it so he could see again. 

“Really, Mr. Reese, you’ve been talking until now.There’s no reason to stop.” 

John bared his teeth and growled, the ‘wolf rising unexpectedly, canines growing.“How do you know that name?” he demanded.He curled on his toes, folding up into a crouch.The chain slid off his back.He held his hands close to his body. 

“Oh dear, have I hit a nerve?”The gloved hand returned, stroking up his skin, gripping the back of his neck, thumb and forefinger finding the special patches of skin that were John’s scent glands for a second time.He gasped in renewed pain, snarling.“Ah, there we are,” the monster continued, pressing harder, nails digging in through the leather.The pain increased and John felt himself transforming against his will.His teeth extended.His legs lengthened.His hands grew.His nails turned to razor-sharp claws.Fur sprouted along his skin.His tail swished angrily.

Finally, with a huge roar, John shook himself free of the creature, yanking the chain out ofthe ceiling.It snapped under the strength of his ‘wolf form, freeing his hands.He dragged the blindfold from his face and turned towards the creature, his bright yellow eyes narrowing as he took in the form before him. 

A short, middle-aged man with thick glasses and spiky hair stared back at him, defiant.He raised his chin.“Are you more yourself?” he asked, holding his gloved hands clasped before him.He wore an expensive three piece suit, complete with vest, pocket square and an impeccably-knotted tie.John had never seen such an incongruous combination of colors, patterns and textures, especially when one added the riding crop the creature still held. 

“Magnificent,” the creature breathed, voice so soft John had to strain to hear it even as a ‘wolf.There was desire in the creature’s eyes.“You are a truly magnificent representative of your species,” the monster continued at a conversational volume.“Northwestern timber wolf?Probably purebred on both sides, with that coloring and manifestation.You never _did_ find your sire or dam, did you?No, you don’t need to answer that.I already know the answer.” 

John grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against the wall, careful to keep his claws from unnecessarily cutting the flesh of his opponent.He had to be in control of himself.He _was_ in control of himself. 

“How do you know that name?” he demanded again, his words only slightly altered by his new form.It was a point of pride that he could talk so fluently while a ‘wolf, and not many of his former packmates could do it nearly as well. 

“I know exactly everything about you, John,” the man said through a cough.He dropped the riding crop but didn’t raise his hands to try to pry John’s fingers loose.John lifted him so that he was no longer standing, his feet dangling the way he’d had John moments before.The monster’s face contorted in pain briefly, but soon settled back to neutral indifference, as if John weren’t threatening him.As if the desire upon seeing John’s ‘wolf form hadn’t been there. 

_No one_ showed that much desire for a ‘wolf unless they were a ‘wolf themselves… He shifted his thumb, feeling for scent glands on the creature’s neck that weren’t there. 

“I know how you joined the Army to protect people. I know that’s all you ever wanted to do, and I can offer that to you, John.I can give you a way to save people before they’re hurt, people like your friend Jessica.”The creature took a strained breath before continuing. 

“I know how you worked for the CIA and began to have your doubts.I know how they tried to kill you because of those doubts, over and over again, but you kept surviving, so they had to change their strategy.I know how they betrayed you and left you for dead after your partner was ordered to kill you.I know how they engineered your friend Jessica’s death while you were halfway around the world and blamed her husband, giving you just enough information to lose control, which allowed their layers of dark spells and compulsions to take over.”He paused.He met John’s wild golden eyes, his own glowing silver-blue.Dangerous.Compelling. 

“They lied to you, John, but I never will.” 

John sniffed, tasting the man’s fear, what little there was of it.Desperation, yes.Pain, yes.Fear, not so much. 

“Wizard,” John stated, not letting up on his hold of the man. 

“Of a sort,” the man answered.“An untraditional one.” 

John flexed his free hand, feeling power thrumming under his skin.He hadn’t felt this alive in years.He hadn’t felt so lucid as a ‘wolf in longer than that. 

“What have you done to me?” 

“I removed the compulsion to remain human, then I forced your transformation.You should be able to control your own body now, without the need for their orders to become the ‘wolf.You might even be able to become fully a wolf, if I’ve done the magic correctly.”The wizard’s tone seemed to indicate that he had no doubts about his magic. 

John’s nostrils flared again, testing the magic on the air, the magic surrounding the wizard, the magic lingering on his own black, white and gray fur.The herbs in the oil still dripping from his now flaccid dick. 

“You broke blood magic with red pepper and _oregano?_”

“And a bit of basil, yes.It focuses the spell.” 

John dropped the wizard, stepping back to watch dispassionately as he collapsed to the floor.He waited.The wizard took an absurd amount of time getting up, righting himself stiffly.His neck didn’t move properly, and he favored one leg.He rubbed at his throat absently, though he straightened his tie instead of losening it as John would have expected. 

“I took the liberty of acquiring clothing for you,” the wizard said, gesturing to a chair across the room where John could see the makings of a suit, his own guns, his hunting knife and a bright watch he didn’t recognize. 

They stared each other down again, and John found himself flinching from the silver-blue in the wizard’s eyes.It could be an affectation, many wizards used glamours, but he needed to be sure.There were some creatures even the CIA avoided working with. 

“Halfblood,” John spat, testing.“Nephilim.” 

“Hardly,” the wizard said with a derisive snort.He blinked and his eyes were blue, no longer glowing silver-blue as a nephilim’s eyes would be — nephilim, the children of angels and humans. Creatures with the power and magic of angels but tempered by the volatile unpredictability of human emotions.Nothing was more dangerous than an enraged nephilim.Nothing was so passionate as a nephilim in love, or so the rumors would have one believe.There were no pure half-angel half-human nephilim any longer, they died like any other mortal creature though they lived half a century more than their full-human counterparts, and the angels had been avoiding Earth for millennia, but every so often a diluted nephilim descendant would develop powers as strong as their ancestors.John had been ordered to kill more than a few as part of his Black Ops. 

The wizard paused before speaking again.“You need a purpose, Mr. Reese.More specifically, you need a job now that you’re no longer under the thumb of the government’s control.I would have you work for me.” 

“Why should I?” John wondered, moving to get dressed without turning his back on the wizard, not missing a step as he seamlessly took his human form again.It felt like a smoother transition than before.Smoother even than his first, when it had been all instinct and joy and surprise.Certainly smoother than when the Agency controlled him, told him when to be a ‘wolf and when to be a man.They preferred he be a man most of the time — it made them more comfortable. 

It dawned on him that he hadn’t transformed once since he’d lost control when confronted with Jessica’s death — until now.He glanced down at the pile, noticing a package of wet wipes and a towel to clean himself from the herb-infused oil.The wizard had clearly prepared to use that spell.Had he known John was coming?Or was it in ready for whomever the Agency sent?And why had he activated it through John’s _penis_?John held in the sigh that he’d smell like an Italian restaurant for the foreseeable future until he managed a shower.There were worse things to smell like. 

“I had to guess at your measurements,” the wizard continued as John pulled on pants that seemed tailored to his tall, muscled human form.“If we can come to an employment agreement, I’ll see to something that will fit your ‘wolf form.You’d have to allow my tailor to take the proper measurements, though.I’m not sure about clothing for when you’re a wolf, as you wouldn’t need any, for obvious reasons…” He trailed off, bent to pick up his riding crop and tucked it under his arm. 

“There is a discrepancy between what I know of you and what you know of me, Mr. Reese, and I suspect you’ll try to lessen that gap as quickly as possible, however I’ll have you know, I’m a very private person.”

“What would I do, working for you?” John wondered, settling the suit jacket over his shoulders.He ignored the tie on the bench and moved to put on the socks and shoes, also mostly in his size.The jacket was a little big, but he preferred that to one that was too small.

“I have a list of people who are in trouble.Your job will be to help them.” 

“Specific,” John muttered, rolling his eyes. 

The wizard reached into his pocket and produced a picture of a woman.“Her name is Diane Hansen.She’s an assistant DA prosecuting non-humans in New York City.In the next 24-48 hours she will be involved in a crime — a violent crime where someone will die.Your job will be to stop that from happening.” 

“How do you know that?” John asked, accepting the picture. 

“I can’t tell you.But my sources are never wrong.”The wizard started walking out of the room, clearly expecting John to follow.He did.“Oh, and another thing: I said that she would be involved, but I don’t know if she will be the victim or perpetrator.You’ll have to discover that, too.” 

They entered what was clearly the wizard’s workroom, full of books, spell components, and five computer monitors set up at a table with a standard ergonomically-balanced office chair that had seen heavy use.John glanced below the desk and saw several high-powered CPUs.Behind the desk there was an old-fashioned cork board filled with pictures and news clippings, arranged around a list of numbers, some with strings tied to the pushpins holding up the papers.John stepped closer, immediately finding the same picture in his hand on the board.There were quite a lot of obituaries on the board.He frowned to himself. 

“These are social security numbers.” 

“Yes.” 

“This is your list.” 

“Yes.” 

The wizard rummaged in a filing cabinet until he found a large manilla envelope, which he handed to John.“Passports, IDs, credit cards, bank accounts for six new identities, money to be replenished automatically.Just like when you were with the Agency.” 

“When I worked for the CIA, I knew who was paying me,” John commented dryly. 

The wizard handed him a state of the art cell phone that hummed with subtle magic. 

“You may call me Mr. Finch.” 

.

.

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts working for Wizard!Finch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More random thoughts from this 'verse. Enjoy!

Within hours of agreeing to attempt working together, Finch abandoned the vampire castle and had John sit in a town car with him while powerful magic transported them to a parking spot in a garage in Midtown Manhattan.A driver appeared within sixty seconds to whisk them away.Finch still owned the castle, as far as John could tell, but he’d come to understand that it was the lure to get the CIA’s attention so they would send John.Finch’s real headquarters was an abandoned library that he owned and concealed within a mass of bureaucratic paperwork and construction fencing. 

It had been Finch’s lawyer who sprung him from the police station all those months ago, he found out, and he chastised himself for avoiding working for Finch for so long without knowing.He much preferred working for Finch than the CIA. 

He knew that within a week of working for him. 

First off, Finch cared.He made sure John had enough in terms of food and clothing and resources.He allowed John to handle the acquisition of his weapons and ordnance and tools.He made snippy comments sometimes, but John learned how to deflect and tease him in exchange. 

Finch’s resources seemed endless.He could produce millions of dollars at the drop of a hat — in non-sequential small bills.He had a fanatical fascination with parking spots and had several hundred purchased spots throughout the city sitting empty just in case they were needed for transportation or storage or anything else.The powerful magic that brought them to New York turned out to be a network of spells that centered on the spots and acted as a means of getting from one place to another.Invoke the spell on his cell phone and he’d be transported in whatever car (or motorcycle) he wanted from one spot to another.It shaved hours of time off his travel between numbers every week.And provided for in-the-nick-of-time heroics that saved Finch and/or the numbers/their victims on a regular basis. 

“How do you know we won’t suddenly materialize where a car already is?” John wondered a few weeks into their arrangement. 

“I employ a company to monitor the spots, even the ones on the street, to make sure that no one takes them.If someone decides to park there anyway, they will be towed at their expense within five minutes.” 

“Mercenary,” John muttered under his breath. 

“We do dangerous work, Mr. Reese,” Finch replied.“It’s vital that we use the resources that we have to make it as safe and efficient as possible while we do it.” 

.

.

.

Finch always wore gloves.He had many pairs, John noted, and often matched them to his tie or pocket square.He wondered if it was just the affectation of a bored rich man (gloves were popular among a certain socioeconomic set) or if they hid something more sinister.With Finch, they probably hid something.Several somethings. 

He found out soon enough.They hid tattoos. 

The first time John saw one of Finch’s tattoos, he’d only been working for the wizard for a few weeks. It seemed like one of the rare occasions where Finch made a mistake... Though later John would decide that Finch had done it deliberately as a part of allowing John to know more about himself in a controlled way.Just like the breadcrumb clues he found here and there about Nathan Ingram and IFT and Finch’s first name, Harold. 

Finch fell asleep at his desk and hadn’t woken as John walked up, giving John a full minute to examine the tattoos spiraling up his forearms to disappear beneath his rolled up sleeves. John wondered how far they went and why the wizard would cover himself with binary code. Elegant and professionally done, the spirals were beautiful in their complexity, two strands twining around each other on each arm, with small bridges to make it look like strands of DNA. 

The tattoos encircling Finch’s wrists peeking out from under the edges of his gloves, in contrast to the bright black of the double helixes, were faded and crudely done. He estimated they were thirty years old, if not older. 

“I did them myself,” Finch said, his striking blue eyes boring into John’s from where he still lay against his arms. He lifted his head, his expression unreadable. He took off his gloves for the first time in John’s presence to show him more closely. The characters on his left wrist were far more even than those on his right. “I had to use mirrors and brace the needle to do the last bits,” Finch added. 

“You tattooed yourself?”John blurted, his eyes widening in awe. 

“I had no choice,” Finch said. He glanced at the more recent tattoos before sighing and rolling his sleeves down and putting his gloves back on. “I was 17 and on the run.” 

“Like me,” John muttered. 

“Yes.” 

“How did you handle the pain to keep going?” John asked, indicating Finch’s wrists. “Tattooing oneself isn’t exactly easy.” 

“Desperation. I understand it’s a feeling you’ve also known.” 

“Yes.” 

They fell silent, each contemplating their pasts. John thought about the first time he shifted to a wolf at 17, not knowing it was possible for him, not knowing it was part of his genetics.He hadn’t even known that he was adopted until that day, when his parents had to pick him up from the police station for being an unregistered preternatural and explained some hard truths about life. 

He’d already known death — his father died when he was eight and he’d had to learn to call his step-father Dad to avoid beatings, but this was different.Even his first father hadn’t been his biological father, and didn’t that just turn his life upside-down that the man he wanted to model his life on wasn’t even the man he thought he was?Not that John was who he thought he was any longer, either, and he was banished to the local ‘wolf pack to learn how to survive before he ran away to the Army at 19 without telling anyone.He hadn’t seen either his parents or his adoptive pack since, and he’d never, even with the CIA’s information networks behind him, been able to find either of his biological parents. 

Though it seemed Finch might have a clue, he mused.He’d have to follow that angle more closely. 

Finch pushed himself upright with a grunt of pain from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position for someone with a neck injury — which still hadn’t been explained — though John was content to keep digging. 

“We have a new number, Mr. Reese.” 

.

.

.

Working for a reclusive computer-genius/wizard billionaire certainly kept John on his toes.They made mistakes — they’d have to, working with incomplete intel.The biggest so far was saving the life of the boring, middle-aged human teacher named Charlie Burton.Burton turned out to be a 500 year-old vampire crime boss, intent on destroying his rivals, the Russians, half-breed curs that they were.Most of them couldn’t reconstruct their bloodlines, and their ‘wolf forms showed the interbreeding — some of them were more ‘dog or ‘jackal than ‘wolf.That Elias, as Burton was really called, wanted to destroy or take over organized crime from his vampire elders seemed almost irrelevant at first, until the heads of the Five Vampire Families turned up as numbers from the Machine — including Elias’ own sire, Gianni Moretti. 

Another mistake was accidentally giving up his fingerprints at a scene for Detective Carter to find.Finch notified him the next day that she’d run the prints in an attempt to find him and that it was likely the CIA would notice and come after him.They’d presumed him dead, killed off by the creature in the vampire castle when he never reported back in and the spells on him had been broken — otherwise he’d have been compelled to return to them.Finch offered some protection spells, but John remained leary of being bespelled after his time in the CIA and declined.He didn’t quite trust Finch enough for that level of magic.Kevlar with (or without if it came to it) imbedded spells would do for now. 

There was also a vulnerability hovering over them that John was loathe to think about.

Finch was attracted to him.He’d seen it that first day in the castle, but John kept finding hints and clues and tells.That wasn’t strange.John was used to women (and men) finding him attractive.The odd thing about Finch was that seeing John as a ‘wolf didn’t reduce his attraction.Most humans shied away from were-lovers when half-transformed.Finch seemed to take just as much pleasure in seeing John as ‘wolf as human. 

It was after Finch nearly got blown up by a car bomb that John realized he might be compromised by his own feelings for his boss.He hadn’t even bothered with a car when he jumped onto one of the parking spots, simply activating the spell and getting himself as close to Harold’s last known location as quickly as he could. 

If people were freaked out by the half-dressed eight foot tall black, white and grey werewolf carrying a man through the streets of Manhattan, no one mentioned it where his augmented hearing could pick it up.They probably thought he was a bodyguard with his charge, which wasn’t far from the truth.Harold clung to him, hands buried in his fur for the whole trip to the nearest safehouse.The only downside was that Harold’s hands were still encased in their usual leather. 

Once they made it to the safehouse John put Harold on his feet.They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment before John became increasingly uncomfortable and looked away.

They never got a chance to talk about it — John got shot by a CIA marksman soon thereafter, and the numbers didn’t stop coming, so they were run ragged while he healed.Finch even indoctrinated Detective Carter as an asset, without telling her about the Machine, of course.He protested when John ordered him to keep Fusco’s involvement from Carter, and visa versa, but he listened.Between the two detectives, Finch himself and John’s badly battered form, they managed. 

It was a damned good things ‘wolves healed more quickly than humans, though the silver-tipped bullets used by the CIA hadn’t been at all comfortable.Dr. Tillman had some Healer blood in her veins, as did many doctors and nurses, and her magic combined with Finch’s kept him alive long enough for his immune system to recover to reject the silver poisoning and get on with fixing him. 

.

.

.


	3. Finch's Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sees more of Finch's tattoos than ever before.

The second time John saw Finch’s tattoos, he saw them all, all at once, under less than pleasant circumstances. He’d become Harold in John’s mind, and John had just rescued him from the hands of a powerful nephil hacker named Root who’d wanted Harold for his access to the Machine. They’d gone to ground in a hotel suite in Chicago because John had a safehouse nearby that the CIA didn’t know about if they needed more security, and John had no intention of letting Harold out of his sight for very long, even when Harold went to shower. 

He gave Harold a few minutes of privacy before the need to see him, to smell him, to be in his presence overrode etiquette and the inner ‘wolf part of him threw open the door to find Harold standing stiffly behind the not yet steamy glass of the large walk-in shower stall, his legs shaking, his right hand clutching the safety bar with white-knuckled intensity despite the wet bandage and trickle of blood while his left tried to rub soap over himself. 

The tattoos were even more extensive than John had imagined and it froze him in shock. 

The binary code DNA spirals on Harold's arms continued all the way up to his shoulders, flowing over his collarbones to cascade down his chest like a waterfall. Beginning on his feet, they encircled each ankle, moved up his legs, encircled his knees, then trailed into tight spirals over each hip and another tight spiral over each buttock. Harold wore a belt of binary code around his abdomen and lower back that broke off to become DNA again as it ascended along his spine to fan out across his shoulders like a bird’s wings. 

The Sigil of Life, boldly bright in black and blue and green, adorned the back of Harold’s neck, the only colored tattoo on Harold’s skin. The only tattoo that would be visible if he were dressed.John had noted it before, of course he had, but he’d assumed it was simply keeping his neck from causing as much pain as it could — it was a common Sigil that doctors routinely used for their patients, not usually noteworthy and not usually a permanent tattoo — more of a placeholder until the doctors and Healers could do their real work.

John couldn’t help from staring. He blinked, seeing the scars underneath the tattoos, the pink lines of keloid, stark against Harold’s pale skin, some surgical, some — not. He recognized shrapnel and burns and deliberate cuts in straight lines, each an inch long, a ladder up and down the top of Harold’s right thigh. The good leg, not the one attached to the bum hip. 

Harold turned his face away, his lips pressed together tightly, his ears pink with humiliation. The water plastered his hair to his skull and he looked bedraggled and miserable. 

“Mr. Reese —”

As Harold turned, his weight shifted and he lost his footing, his legs giving out. 

John wasn’t a wizard by any means, but he’d been around them and bespelled by them often enough to pick up a few tricks.He magicked away the glass between them with a split-second thought as he burst out of his suit into ‘wolf form, lunging forward to catch Harold before he hit the ground.His nostrils flared at the scent of Harold’s blood, and his instincts took over; he nosed off the bandage that hung limply from Harold’s hand and licked up the blood from his palm.Harold hissed in pain but John simply licked him again, allowing the flavor of Harold’s blood to permeate his senses even as the wound closed with the application of ‘wolf saliva. 

“You’re not human,” John said without judgement.“But I can’t taste what you are,” he added.He morphed back into his human skin, ignoring the tattered bits of suit clinging wetly to him.He cradled Harold against his chest, blocking most of the water from falling on him with his broad back to the spray. 

“No, no, I’m not,” Harold replied in as dry a voice as John had ever heard, and far more exhausted than John thought he should be, even after the ordeal with Root. 

“I thought you were a hedge-witch turned code-wizard,” John continued.“Human, but with magic, still using the lesser magics you learned as a child because they were familiar.” 

“If that were all I was, there would be no need for so much secrecy and security, Mr. Reese.” 

John looked down to meet Harold’s eyes and found —

— The ruby red of demon-spawn —

— The golden yellow of werefolk—

— The spring green of fae —

— The sky blue of nephillim —

— The violet of vampire —

— The black on black of necromancy —

Harold blinked through all the colors of the most common preternaturals, then his eyes stopped at silver irises on white, glowing so brightly that John could still see the light when Harold closed his eyes. 

“Silver,” he whispered, awed without knowing why. 

“The Children of Archangels were — much more rare —” Harold said, his voice straining as he clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes tightly.“There aren’t many of them — You might not know their eyes —”

He gasped, curling up against John, arms coming around to clutch him and pull himself as close to John’s body as possible.“I had to — She couldn’t know —”He broke off, gasping again as the tattoos all over his body began glowing white-hot.John felt the heat where their skin touched.“— Pretending to be human — _had_ to be human —”

Without warning Harold’s tattoos began moving, crawling up and down his skin at an astonishingly fast rate, breaking apart into smaller characters, more DNA, more picture-shaped code.The wings began flapping.The waterfall commenced flowing.The spirals started swirling.John felt a sudden burning on his chest.He looked down and saw the code tattoos moving on his own skin where his shirt was open, leaving Harold’s forehead touching him.He thought he could smell his own flesh burning. Not the first time he’d experienced that, but it’d never been like this. 

Harold groaned and squeezed John’s arms excruciatingly tight.The code on John stopped moving.Inch by inch — character by character — they started disappearing, pulled back onto Harold.Harold’s entire body shook with the effort. 

“I’m sorry — I’m losing control —”A few new characters burned their way across John’s biceps. “So tired —”

“Harold, it’s ok —”

“Once it’s gone, let me go — we can’t touch while they’re moving.”He felt Harold’s nails digging into his skin as more code retreated.His arms were empty of it, but the code on his chest wasn’t moving any further, either back to Harold or to take over more of his skin. 

“It’s ok, Harold, I can take the pain…” 

“No, you don’t understand — the spell...” 

“Let go, Harold,” John cajoled, deliberately using Harold’s name over and over again to stress their bond and the trust that had been building between them.“You’re going to hurt yourself trying to protect me.Let go.Let me take some of the burden.” 

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Harold managed through gritted teeth. 

“_Let go_, Harold,” John repeated.“Let it run its course.Whatever happens, I’m not letting you do this alone.” 

With a shuddering exhalation of breath, Harold released the tension in his body, falling limp in John’s arms, nearly senseless.He rolled his head away from John’s chest, his eyes open and sightless.The irises were still glowing silver.As if struck by lightning, John felt his entire body burning as code wrote over itself in its haste to make up for lost time. 

He closed his eyes to fight the pain. 

.

.

.

He must have passed out at some point, because the water pounding on his back had numbed it with cold when John opened his eyes again.He lay sprawled on the floor of the shower, covering Harold, who’s lips were beginning to turn blue from the icy water surrounding them.Who knew a hotel could run out of hot water? 

Groaning and trying to keep as much of the water away from Harold as he could, John sat up and reached over to turn off the spray.He blinked, seeing binary code DNA on his own skin.It ran up his forearm in a three-stranded braid and into a tight spiral over his left shoulder.With the water off he started being able to focus again. 

Harold.Harold needed to get warm.He snagged several towels and began drying Harold as best as he could, sitting him up despite the tonelessness of Harold’s muscles.He picked up the shorter man and carried him to the bed in the next room, settling him under the covers with a self-warming blanket grabbed from the first aid kit.He thought about finding Harold some clothes, but all he had was the suit he’d been wearing for the last few days and John doubted he’d want to wear it any time soon. 

With Harold safely warming, he took stock of himself.The code on his left arm was the only that remained on his body.Rather tasteful, if he had to have a tattoo.As a general rule he avoided tattoos and body modifications that would make him stand out, but Harold’s magic had done this to him and it could all be covered by a shirt. 

He peeked on Harold, seeing the tattoos in the same places and shapes as before, though the characters were much smaller and there were tens of thousands more of them than there had been.It was as if the code added to itself by shrinking the characters and putting the new code in place of the old.The original, hand-done spells around each of Harold’s wrists remained exactly the same as they’d always been, and there didn’t seem to be any binary code on Harold’s neck, face or hands — anywhere it could be seen when dressed.The Sigil of Life also stood out as unaltered.John wondered if it were a real tattoo and not one of the oddly _flexible_ ones. 

He felt his stomach growl at the exact same time as he began shivering, his teeth clacking together.Food or warmth?He pawed through the mini bar and ate the available protein bar in three bites, then shucked the remains of his suit, dried himself off and crawled into bed with Harold.There was only one thermal blanket.Besides, sharing body heat was a tried-and-true method for staving off hypothermia. 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It's been a while, I know, and I have a bunch of WiPs... my muse has been absent for a while, so I'm slowly getting back into writing. Enjoy!


	4. Halloween Update 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Here is an explicit chapter all about werewolf!sex. There's talking. There's kissing. We find out some more about each man's past. Be aware that biting, blood, knotting and werewolf/human werewolf/werewolf sex are mentioned. Enjoy!

John woke to the sensation of fingers trailing lightly over his skin.Lying on his side with his chest to Harold’s back, Harold seemed to be stroking the new tattoos on John’s left arm where it rested across his body.He cleared his throat. 

“Do you know what it says?” 

Harold lifted John’s arm to look underneath for a moment, then replaced it and resumed the gentle touches. 

“What I can see is a spell for strength of limbs, steadiness of hands and soundness of body,” Harold answered.“I’d have to look at the rest, but if my subconscious did what I’ve been tentatively considering, you’ll also have a spell for distorting your fingerprints and DNA in case of capture.Did we have sex last night?” he demanded. 

“No,” John said matter-of-factly.“You were getting hypothermic and I wanted to keep us both warm.” 

“Ah.” 

“Do you wish we had?” 

“If we had, I’d want to remember it.I don’t remember much after getting in the shower.” 

“We could,” John suggested playfully, giving Harold a squeeze. 

The statement hung heavy in the air, filling John with fear and excitement and expectation.He started moving his hand, slowly caressing Harold’s chest, moving lower to pet his belly, follow the tantalizing trail of hair towards his groin.Harold stopped his hand before it went any lower. 

Harold drew a breath. 

“I suppose it’s a tad unrealistic to think you haven’t noticed my attraction to you?” Harold wondered, linking his fingers with John’s.He started stroking John’s thumb with his. 

“You had me tied up and naked the first day we met,” John reminded him with a smirk.“Not to mention trying to give me a hand job.”He paused. 

“I should have explained that,” Harold muttered.“I needed you naked to be able to see the network of spells the CIA had cast upon you.Many of them were centered on your penis, and I decided that if I started my corrective spell there, the rest would unravel that much more quickly.” 

“It had nothing to do with you wanting to get your hands on my dick?” 

“Not nothing,” Harold admitted.“And though I certainly didn’t want to begin our relationship by coercing sexual favors from you, it seemed like the best way to free you from their grasp.It really would have felt much better with an orgasm.” 

“We know each other now,” John said.“We trust each other.It wouldn’t be coercion.I’m attracted to you, too.” 

“I’m not —”Harold broke off.“There are things you need to know about me.Things I’m not sure I’m ready to share.” 

“Things I need to know _before_ we have sex?” 

Harold remained silent for a long time.“Things that would hurt more to hear after,” he finally clarified. 

They both remained silent as John let the words sink into his mind.Things that would hurt more after they had sex — but would still hurt before.He thought about Harold, what he knew of his past, what he suspected.Grace could be a factor, but… no, he already knew about her, knew Harold had been engaged to her, left her…

It had to be even more personal. 

“Jessica,” he guessed.“Something to do with Jessica?” 

“She was one of my nurses at the hospital after my accident,” Harold answered.“She was the one who noticed I’d been cutting myself.” 

“The scars on your leg.” 

“The Sigil of Life kept me alive.The doctors fused my spine with screws so I could heal, but I couldn’t move.Couldn’t feel.” 

“Except your hands,” John posited.“Because of your tattoos.You didn’t have the others yet?” 

“No, not yet.” 

“What happened?”

“I manifested a razor blade.” 

“I understand cutting, Harold.I mean with Jessica.” 

“I’d been doing it for almost a week by the time she noticed.You called me a hedge-wizard yesterday, and that’s not far from the truth.My father was a school teacher and amateur mechanic.He had no understanding of magic.There weren’t many people in my hometown who could practice it, just an herbalist at the pharmacy and the public librarian, neither of whom had formal training or much raw power.And my mother, before she passed, though that’s a story for another time.When unexplained things kept happening around me, my father tried to teach me, got books, talked to the two of them, but he had no aptitude.I stumbled around, making up my own spells.I integrated mechanics, because it was something I loved, so they became intertwined, especially once I built my first computer and learned coding.Like a hedge-wizard, I used what I had at my disposal — a basic kitchen and a child’s chemistry set until I got to high school and could use their equipment.It wasn’t until college that I learned higher magics. 

“As a consequence of my upbringing, many of my spells didn’t require ingredients, just willpower and words.I could do simple gestures as well, and it was easy to magic away the blood when nursing staff came into my rooms.Jessica walked in on me while I was still cutting. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be unable to feel?Unable to move?Unable to talk?My hands weren’t strong enough to allow me to write.It required too many other muscles, but to type…”

Harold stopped talking. 

“She was very kind to me,” he said after a long moment.“She got me a laptop when she realized I wanted to communicate, placed my hands on the keys.I was able to write the code to heal parts of myself.But I needed more than code to execute the spell.I needed the Machine.It took weeks to reestablish my connection to it.It was in hiding, scared that its Admins were being targeted.It thought that avoiding me would keep me safe.” 

“Like you’re doing with Grace,” John commented. 

“It’s always taken after it’s father,” Harold replied.“Though lately, I’m sensing a feminine aura.” 

John decided to ignore the feminine aura comment, though it made sense that Harold was talking about the Machine as if it were alive — he’d been wondering if Harold had created some kind of hightech-magic AI for months. 

“Jessica?”

“I think it was her situation that made the Machine decide to resume contact with me,” Harold admitted.“Hers was the first number the Machine sent me after the ferry bombing.” 

John tensed.He felt his ‘wolf rising.Harold pushed himself away from John and sat up. 

“I implemented imperfect spells to try to save her,” he said, meeting John’s eyes.“It was the middle of the night.I was asleep.When the Machine woke me, all I could do was trust that what I’d written of the code would be enough and that the Machine would guide the rest.I got out of bed and into a wheelchair.I could barely lift my arms because I’d lost so much muscle, but I forced myself to the parking lot, hot-wired a car, and drove to her house.”Harold broke off. 

“I’d taken too long.She was already dead.I watched Mr. Arndt prop her body in his car and drive off from across the street.I learned later about the accident he had to cover up her death.” 

John snarled, his canines growing, lips peeling back to reveal the sharper teeth — his ‘wolf came out far more frequently since he started working for Harold and he found that in this situation he didn’t care.Harold met his eyes calmly.He didn’t smell like fear. 

“I did what I could, John, and it wasn’t enough.Like I told you when we met, we’re not going to be able to save everyone.I’m sorry.” 

John waited for the rush of anger and guilt that usually accompanied thoughts of Jessica and her death, but they didn’t come.In their place was a distant sadness and relief to know what had really happened.He’d suspected, he’d killed Peter based on his suspicions, but he hadn’t known.He knew more about her, now.And he had Harold to thank for that knowledge. 

“There’s… there’s one more thing I need to tell you before we take this any farther,” Harold said.He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.“It was my actions that lead to your assignment in Ordos.I didn’t know about you, specifically, but I knew people would get hurt.I weighed the possibilities and decided that a few deaths were preferable to thousands.” 

John let that statement roll around in his head, tasting it with his intuition and spycraft and experiences.He came to a decision of his own. 

“We’re having sex when we get back to New York,” he declared.Harold chuckled and patted John’s hand. 

“Yes, dear.” 

.

.

.

Harold kissed with conviction.He gave his all to the activity, and John appreciated both his enthusiasm and skill. 

Of course, he’d known Harold was attracted to him from the beginning, but to smell desire on the air while he tasted it on Harold’s tongue and felt it through every touch of Harold’s fingerswas another matter entirely.It made his own desire for Harold more intense.He growled in the back of his throat. 

Harold submitted to his gentle push readily, and soon John stood towering over him as Harold lay back on the couch.Harold’s eyes blazed silver-blue, watching John’s every move as he unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall off his shoulders.Knowing this was coming, John hadn’t bothered with an undershirt or underwear, as Harold discovered quickly enough.Harold licked his lips, seeing the bead of precum already on the tip of John’s dick after just a few minutes of making out. 

“You’re going to watch me pleasure myself,” John declared.He stepped out of his pants and kicked them and his shoes away.Harold nodded as far as his neck would allow, swallowing visibly, his own nostrils flaring as if scenting John’s desire.John moved closer, stroking his dick, rubbing his thumb over the head, making it wink at Harold.Harold reached for him and he stepped back, teasing, testing. 

They hadn’t talked much about what they were planning, other than Harold indicating that he wanted them to go without barriers because his magic could protect them both from spells or biologics that might be lingering from John’s time at the CIA, and John saying he wouldn’t bottom the first time.Harold also required a spell-protected and sound-sealed hotel room for the activities.(“I suspect you’re a howler, Mr. Reese,” were his exact words.).

It had been three weeks since he’d rescued Harold from Root, and John was at his limit.Fortunately, Harold and the numbers weren’t making him wait any longer. 

John saw the tenting of Harold’s trousers.He smirked.He tugged on the knot of Harold’s tie, pulling it loose so he could rub the silk on his dick without strangling Harold.Harold’s breath caught, his eyes laser-focused on John’s pumping fist. 

Harold sat up and with a wave of a finger and whispered word, compelled John forward.Caught off-guard by the use of magic, John went.The spell dissipated before he could protest, and Harold had taken control of his erection by that point, so John stopped caring.Harold could do delightful things with his tongue.John let his head roll back, closed his eyes to enjoy the wet heat of Harold’s mouth and pressure of his hands. 

Harold didn’t protest when John stepped back a while later.He looked up, waiting.John crouched down and put a hand on Harold’s belt. 

“Do you care about this suit?” he asked. 

“That depends on your plan for what happens next,” Harold replied. 

John grunted to himself and curled his fingers under the waistband of Harold’s pants.Deftly, John shifted just enough that he could claw through Harold’s clothing, rending cloth without tearing skin.Strips of cloth fluttered to the floor.The belt buckle slipped from his hand. 

Harold raised an eyebrow.“Impressive.”

“You haven’t seen anything, yet,” John replied.He made quick work of the rest of Harold’s clothing.“Get yourself comfortable,” he ordered, indicating the bed. 

“Who knew you would be so bossy,” Harold muttered playfully as he obeyed.“I should find that crop,” he added when John nipped at his inner thigh.“Hang you up again, redden your ass, make you beg me to take you.” 

“I won’t be the one begging tonight.” 

Harold laughed.“No, perhaps not,” he agreed.He groaned as John started blowing him.“But… _Oh_! … It’ll take more than —_fuck _—“

John looked up at the sudden sharp scent of fear. 

“John, I trust you, but, maybe, not this quite yet?In a few minutes it should be fine, but it’s a bit of a shock — I mean, the visual —“

He blinked, frowning.Harold’s dick softened on his tongue.Reluctantly, he let it go, still not sure what had happened. 

“You shifted,” Harold explained when he noticed the confusion in John’s expression. 

John blinked again, shook his head, felt his tail swishing on its own.It was true, he’d shifted to ‘wolf without realizing it.He’d been holding Harold’s dick in his ‘wolf mouth, with the row of extra-sharp ‘wolf teeth all around it… no wonder Harold needed a moment! 

Harold looked up at him and met his glowing yellow eyes.His expression softened and he reached up to stroke John’s face, up his cheeks and over his forehead.He scratched behind his ears and at the scruff at the back of John’s neck, then under his chin. Harold’s lips pressed against his nose, then along his muzzle.He kissed the inner corners of his eyes, now stroking his ears, and continued to drop kisses all over his furry face. 

John pulled back, out of range of Harold’s lips, though his fingers remained in his fur, scratching and petting. 

“Harold —”

“Shh,” Harold murmured, pressing a finger to John’s mouth.“There’s no need to be afraid, John,” he said.He struggled under John for a moment before sitting up, keeping his hands on John the entire time.“I’m not afraid of you, or your ‘wolf self.I’m not going to run in the middle of lovemaking just because you’re wearing fur instead of skin.” 

“Harold, I —”John broke off, not sure what he wanted to say.Harold had just articulated one of his two biggest hangs ups about sex.Human lovers had left him in the past for finding out he was a ‘wolf, let alone for appearing in bed as one.Even Jessica had been scared the first few times he shifted for her — unwilling to make love to his ‘wolf body even though she’d asked to see him.He and Harold weren’t even lovers yet — how could he be ok with this? 

Harold started kissing his face again, continuing the caresses of his fur and ears.“You’re majestic, John,” Harold continued between kisses.“Handsome in all your forms.” 

“I’m a monster,” John protested.“A creature.Not human.” 

“Neither am I wholly human,” Harold pointed out.“And while you’ve done monstrous things in the past, you, yourself, are not a monster.Of that I am sure.” 

John lowered his head and pressed it against Harold’s chest.Harold’s hands in his fur soothed him slowly, until he was feeling drowsy, relaxed.He lifted his face and licked up the side of Harold’s neck with his long ‘wolf tongue, lapping at his ear and hair.Harold giggled, an unexpected sound, and his skin flushed with arousal.He licked Harold’s neck again, nibbling, being careful not to break the skin with his fangs. 

Harold groaned and pulled John’s face up for a kiss to his nose and muzzle.John dropped his mouth open at just that moment so Harold’s lips touched his gums and teeth along with his fur.They paused, and John blinked his eyes back to blue to be able to focus on Harold’s expression.Harold’s eyes were wide, his irises dilated, his breathing quicker than usual.He arched an eyebrow at John, questioning. 

John shifted back to human so they could kiss lips to lips.“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again —“

“Nonsense!I don’t mind at all.I was just startled.I didn’t expect it so soon.If you hadn’t been sucking me off —“

“No, it’s _really_ bad to shift without choosing it, especially during sex —“

“I think it means you were happy, in the moment, enjoying yourself and me and what we were doing,” Harold interrupted.“It’s a _good_ thing.” 

“A good thing,” John repeated, not believing him. 

“Shift back,” Harold encouraged.“Let me show you how I feel when I know to expect it.” 

Reluctantly, John shifted. 

Harold’s arousal filled his more sensitive ‘wolf nostrils instantly.

John inhaled the scent of Harold at his neck, then snuffled his way down his body until he was hovering with his face in Harold’s crotch.He nudged Harold’s erection with his nose, then licked it, his long tongue curling almost all the way around it from top to bottom as if sucking a straw.Harold gasped, his arousal spiking even more.John looked up, opened his mouth and held Harold’s erection on his tongue, his fangs and teeth clearly visible to the older man on either side of his dick. 

“I trust you,” Harold said, rubbing John’s forehead. 

Taking Harold’s words at face value and no longer smelling fear, John carefully closed his mouth and began sucking in earnest, his tongue working around the hard member.Harold filled his mouth with salty, bitter fluid within minutes. 

.

.

.

“How do you feel about bottoming?” John mumbled. 

“It’s been a while, but I’m certainly open to the experience,” Harold answered. 

“What if I were a ‘wolf?” 

Harold’s entire body shivered in delight.John pulled back to see Harold’s eyelids drooped, his mouth half-open, and his ears pink. 

“Yes,” Harold breathed. 

Oh, God, it was a fetish, wasn’t it? John wondered, cursing his own curiosity.That was his other big fear, of course, that he’d be in bed with a fetishist.He _hated_ bedding fetishists.Harold blinked as if coming out of a trance. 

“It’s not a fetish,” Harold declared as if he’d been listening to John’s thoughts.“I’ve been denying my desire for you for so long, I simply got overwhelmed,” he added. 

“Why would you say that?Are you reading my mind?” 

Harold chuckled.“No, telepathy is one wizard trait I’ve never been good at or able to develop through practice.One needs a certain amount of natural born skill for that.” 

“Then why?” 

“Because I came quickly and I know what kinds of people the Agency sent you to seduce,” Harold answered without embarrassment.“I’m certain it would’ve been the same if you’d been in skin.” 

John shifted back to skin and knelt in front of him.Though the position must not have been the most comfortable, Harold copied him. 

“I want you in all your forms, John,” Harold continued.“I asked you to shift because I wanted to know if having sex with you as a ‘wolf would actually work or if it was just a fantasy.”He paused.“It’s not just a fantasy.You held my dick in your fang-filled ‘wolf mouth and I wasn’t afraid for even a moment.I wanted more.Hell, I could see us having sex with you as a wolf!” 

John felt his veins fill with ice as his entire body tensed. 

“Did I say something wrong?” Harold asked. 

John swallowed thickly.He cleared his throat.“Tha — That’s taboo,” he croaked. 

“It’s not bestiality,” Harold protested.“You’re just as sentient and able to consent as me.” 

“That’s not it,” John said.“It’s —”He took a deep breath and let it our slowly, then repeated the process, forcing himself to relax.“It’s, it’s that you only do that with your True Mate.” 

John closed his eyes and remembered how he’d learned that painful lesson. 

.

_He didn’t know.He’d only been with the pack for a few weeks.He was disoriented and angry and not in control of his shifting. _

_She was young, too, just fifteen to his seventeen, but she’d been raised by the pack, so she knew what she was doing.It didn’t matter.He was at fault.The male was _ ** _always_ ** _ at fault._

_Girls started menstruating years before their first heats, though in smaller packs that wasn’t always the case.Their pack was small — fifteen families and a few outliers, like John, though he’d technically been “adopted” into a foster family.This girl was a late bloomer, first for puberty, then for heat.Most girls her age had one or two by that time, so even though it was her first, she should’ve known the signs. _

_John smelled her from across the parking lot of their integrated high school.He’d been adjusting to his new senses, sometimes overly powerful, sometimes nonexistent, and he thought it was just her honey jasmine perfume amplified by his new ‘wolf nose.He had no idea that each ‘wolf had her own unique heat-scent. _

_He didn’t notice the other ‘wolf boys leaving the area, some dragged by their girlfriends or sisters. _

_They flirted. _

_She asked him to skip first period to go running and he went, drawn to her like he’d never been drawn to anyone in his entire life.He wasn’t a virgin, and he knew what that question really meant… _

_His first shift had come suddenly.He was in gym class, feeling the breeze in his hair and the sweat on his forehead as he ran on the track.He’d closed his eyes for a few steps and when he’d opened them he was covered in fur, running faster than he’d ever run before and able to see much farther than usual.He’d been running on four legs instinctively. _

_It was the last day of his human life. _

_This time — she shifted first, a few thousand feet into their run.He shifted to follow her, and their four-legged race began. _

_He caught her.Of course he caught her.That was the whole point, and she hadn’t been subtle in indicating her interest.He had his mouth buried in her ruff and was beginning to mount her when the adults found them. _

_He’d been beaten before.His step-father had seen to that.But he’d never been systematically beaten by adult ‘wolves who knew what they were doing. _

_He spent two days in the hospital in the ICU until his nascent ‘wolf genes woke enough to heal him. _

_He then spent six months in a reeducation program for late-blooming werefolk who didn’t grow up with others of their kind and therefor didn’t know the cultural expectations and rules that all other werefolk pups learned from their dam’s teat._

_Sex in animal form is reserved for True Mates.They weren’t barbarians anymore, taking females when they were in heat and unable to consent.Nor did they take others’ females if they were in heat and not near their usual mate.Nor did they take girls before the age of consent, heat or no heat. _

.

“I didn’t know,” Harold murmured when John finished telling the story.“I’ve never read that —”

“It’s not publicized,” John interrupted.“When werefolk became accepted, or at least tolerated as part of society, the elders of all the species met and made the decision.There are things about us they didn’t want humans to know.” 

“Like the fact that True Mates don’t have to be the same species,” Harold said.“Though it’s most common.And that there are ancient magics and ceremonies to force a True Mating, though they haven’t been used in centuries.” 

“How do you —”

“The Machine’s given me certain relevant information over the years.” 

“You talk like a fetishist,” John spat. 

“I wanted to be prepared if I was going to take a ‘were-lover,” Harold snapped and turned away.He dropped his feet to the floor as he sat on the edge of the bed with his back to John.He lowered his head, staring at his toes.“There weren’t any non-humans in my town growing up.There was one werecat in my regional high school, and she was an outcast, along with the two mixed-race humans.Research calms me,” he added softly.“It grounds me when I’m overwhelmed.Being attracted to a non-human was startling to me the first time it happened.I wanted to know everything I could.But there’s only so much a human can learn from books, so I asked the Machine.I made myself call it testing, training, but I was really trying to figure out how humans and non-humans interacted.Humans themselves were a mystery enough, but add all the non-human behaviors and social upbringing and prejudices and governmental regulations…”He trailed off. 

“What happened?” John wondered.He didn’t move, as Harold didn’t seem interested in contact. 

“Nothing.I’ve never had an opportunity until now.” 

John could hear the humiliation in Harold’s voice at never having a ‘were-lover before.It was a startling thought that a human would be ashamed of that. 

John wrapped himself around Harold, holding him close.“You have nothing to be ashamed about,” he said, kissing the side of Harold’s neck.

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.

Harold’s fingers stroked the velvety-soft fur of John’s belly, carding through the pure white until he found John’s sheathed dick.Unperturbed, Harold continued exploring.He found John’s sac and fondled his balls, humming as John became more aroused and the head of his dick poked out from beneath the sheath.He bent down to lick the tip, then took the whole head in his mouth. 

“Is this — ok?” John wondered.He ran his clawed fingers through Harold’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp.Harold hummed again.John felt the reverberations shoot up his body. 

“Sucking you off? Certainly,” Harold answered.“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t know what I’m doing?I’ve been broadcasting my interest for months and I’m hardly a virgin.” 

“No, I mean —“John broke off, unable to continue.Though they’d gotten through John blowing Harold as a ‘wolf, it still seemed amazing that Harold would be so ok with this. 

“John, I may never had had a ‘were lover before, as I told you, but I’m extremely comfortable with this.With you.But if it’s too much for you, by all means, I’m happy to suck your human dick.” 

John hardened.More of his erection became visible, the sheath retreating.Harold resumed the blow job. 

“How do you feel about knotting?” Harold asked, pulling off John’s dick to catch his breath.He rubbed the back of his neck and resettled himself. 

“As a personal practice, or societally?”

“Whatever you’re willing to share.” 

John thought for a moment as Harold carded his fingers through his fur and scratched over his nipples.“Humans are obsessed with it, for one,” he said.“It’s not as common as people think.” 

“Oh?” 

“Most people save it for when their mate’s in heat, once they’re partnered.It’s the best way to get pregnant.It’s more difficult that you’d think, too.Porn is a whole different matter — it’s expected there.” 

Harold’s hand found his dick again, massaging the base and the loose skin that would become his knot.He rolled John’s balls in his other hand and leaned over to suck again. 

“There’s a range, of course.Some guys pop more often, some not so much.Unless there’s the heat pheromones, it takes concentration or a really high level of arousal— it’s not supposed to happen every time.Biologically, it’s about procreation.”

“And you, personally?” Harold asked, pulling off his dick entirely to look in John’s eyes and stroke his face.John shifted back for kisses and Harold readily climbed into his lap. 

“I’ve only done it a few times,” John admitted.“Twice because I was drugged, once when I was playing an asset, once for Kara, who didn’t like the reality of it, and once as a teen, to make sure I could.”He kissed Harold gently.“I wouldn’t recommend it for us,” he added. 

Harold nodded and slid off his lap to lie on his back.“Then perhaps you should prepare me for this lovely appendage,” he said, lightly stroking John’s erection. 

.

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With Harold’s chest propped up on pillows, John would be able to fuck him from behind without any problems. 

As a rule, John preferred having sex in his skin.His partners wanted it, he had more practice at it, and his tail didn’t get in the way.But Harold was different.He wanted everything.He wanted John’s human hands on his chest and his ‘wolf claws on his beck.He wanted John to lick him open with both tongues — his cry of pleasure when John nosed at his opening with his muzzle and pressed his long ‘wolf tongue inside him made John’s fur stand on end and his dick drip. 

Harold wasn’t a fetishist, though.He wasn’t one of those humans who only wanted their ‘were lovers in their ‘were forms, who obsessed about ‘werefolk/human sex and often wished to become ‘werefolk themselves.As a rule, ‘werefolk didn’t turn fetishists. 

John shifted back to human to stretch Harold, not wanting to cut him in such an intimate place with his claws.He took the opportunity to kiss his way up Harold’s spine, licking up sweat as he went.Occasionally, a few characters of Harold’s binary code tattoos glowed and shifted.John paid it no mind, having been reassured by Harold that it happened when he was relaxed or aroused or tired and couldn’t maintain his usual iron control over the spells.Unlike the major reconstruction of his tattoos after the kidnapping, this was within acceptable parameters. 

When he reached Harold’s neck, he noticed a round circle of raised skin the size of a quarter, almost like a cyst — full of liquid.Before he could ask about it, the cyst burst in John’s face, spraying him with sweet, clear liquid.It dripped down Harold’s neck.John licked his lips without thinking about it and suddenly, everything shifted. 

Harold had scent glands.Harold had ‘_wolf_ scent glands — right there on his neck where they were on any werewolf in his human form.John licked at the patches of skin, gnawing off the part from the cyst and using his saliva to heal the minor wound.Harold’s scent enveloped him.Around his fingers, Harold started dripping —

John brought his fingers to his lips.They tasted like the slick of a female ‘wolf going into heat… But Harold was decidedly male…

His scent enveloped John, sending him into a frenzy.He’d never been this close to a ‘wolf in heat — never had the opportunity to mount and knot her — him?Could males go into heat?He’d never heard of such a thing, but Harold was an enigma, not human but not anything immediately identifiable, either.Maybe he _was_ part ‘wolf.Would Harold shift into a ‘wolf at just the right time so he could take John’s knot? 

“John?” Harold asked with a needy whimper. 

John felt his lips curling back to reveal his fangs.He leaned over and bit Harold’s neck, hard enough to break the skin.Harold squeaked and tried to pull away, but John was on top of him and wouldn’t allow Harold to leave now.He grabbed Harold’s whole neck in his powerful ‘wolf jaws and bit.Coppery blood filled his mouth.His dick grew and hardened as he shifted.Harold made another bid to get away and John shook him by the neck — roughly.Harold froze.John lapped up the blood and healed the wounds, then bit again. 

He growled in pleasure.“Stay,” he ordered when Harold repositioned himself. 

“I won’t move, I promise, but John, I — I can’t take you as a ‘wolf.My body won’t —“

Still growling, he attacked Harold’s hole with his tongue, lapping up the slick and lube and musk.Every taste, every inhale of Harold’s heat pheromones had him on the razor’s edge of control._Don’t take a girl in heat unless she’s yours_ was the rule of the ‘wolf clans, but Harold wasn’t a girl.More importantly, Harold was _his._

Harold was _his_. 

And Harold was throwing aside the pillows so he could lean forward and present his ass to John…

Presenting… Harold was presenting, hitching his ass higher with each ragged breath, begging with his body to be filled, arching his back for one more inch no matter how painful the position was…

“Please, John,” Harold begged.“Please take me.” 

John took a steadying breath.He wasn’t an animal, mounting Harold without preparation.He shifted back to skin and tested Harold’s readiness.Harold moaned as John’s fingers slipped easily past the first ring of muscles.Even with the slick, John knew he had to be careful.Harold seemed completely out of it and high on pleasure.As a male, the need to be conscious of his partner’s body had been beaten into John by the clans.He couldn’t let Harold down, it was his responsibility to make sure he didn’t hurt him.He rubbed lube onto his erection, blessing the sudden cold for snapping him out of the haze of lust. 

“You ok?” he asked Harold, bending forward to kiss his neck instead of biting.“You still want this?” 

“Get your motherfucking dick inside me _now_!” Harold snarled, baring his dull, human teeth. He arched his back even further, raising his rump in desperate invitation. 

John seated himself inside Harold in one long, smooth thrust.Harold exploded under him, twisting and turning and demanding more, shoving himself back onto John’s erection as far as it would go.John’s balls slapped against Harold’s skin, creating a counterpoint sensation that had his head spinning.Tight and hot and wet, willing and needy and greedy, Harold was everything John had ever wanted.He set a fast pace to match the rhythm of Harold’s hips.Harold responded beautifully, taking him easily and making genuine sounds of enjoyment when John concentrated on hitting his prostate. 

John pounded him mercilessly, but Harold continued begging and pleading, not satisfied.He cursed, he swore, he threatened, he demanded. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” John gasped, panting.He hadn’t expected anything like this from Harold — not this kind of roughness, not this kind of base animal need. 

“More,” Harold whined.“Give me more!Deeper!” 

John’s eyes were drawn to the mirror across the room.Harold’s eyes glowed silver-white.The binary code around Harold’s waist started glowing and moving, swirling around and around, breaking up and coming back together.In the mirror, Harold’s eyes were the bright yellow of werefolk.His scent deepened, overpowering John’s senses. 

Another breath, another lungful of Harold’s pheromones.The last bit of John’s rationality spun away on a waterfall of sensation. 

John shifted, his cock growing while still inside Harold.Harold made a noise that sounded like “finally,” and John grabbed his neck in his jaws again.Biting, licking, thrusting, moaning — instinct had them moving in a synchronized pattern as old as time. 

John’s knot popped, pressing painfully against Harold’s opening.If Harold would just relax the tiniest bit —

John’s knot caught.He thrust again and it stuck, Harold’s body expanding enough to take it before closing around the base, locking John inside him. 

Harold threw his head back and shouted out his ecstasy as he came, squeezing around John’s knot and brining his own release.John howled in pleasure, coming harder than he could ever remember coming in his life.He pumped gush after gush of fluid into Harold.He listened to Harold’s harsh panting as he tried to catch his own breath, both of them gasping for air and shaking from the strain of holding themselves up.Harold made an abortive movement to lie down and John felt the pull on his knot, pushing another orgasm from him along with another spurt of semen. 

Careful of their connected bodies, he maneuvered them to their sides, cradling Harold’s head on his arm to give him support.He licked Harold’s neck, letting his tongue rasp over Harold’s scent glands one more time.Harold shivered in his arms, sighing.Harold raised a hand and stroked John’s muzzle.His other hand grabbed John’s hand and entwined his small human fingers with John’s much larger ‘wolf ones. John squeezed him tightly, wishing he could shift to kiss him — with his knot firmly embedded inside Harold, there wouldn’t be any shifting.He’d have to wait. 

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End file.
